Judgement
by jasper-rocks
Summary: Edward in his rebellious days. Scary, gory, Darkward, coarse language, one shot. NOT FOR FAINT OF HEART.


"_It took me only a few years to return to Carlisle and recommit to his vision. I thought I would be exempt from the…depression…that accompanies a conscience. Because I knew the thoughts of my prey, I could pass over the innocent and pursue only the evil. If I followed a murderer down a dark alley where he stalked a young girl — if I saved her, then surely I wasn't so terrible."_

_I shivered, imaging only too clearly what he described — the alley at night, the frightened girl, the dark man behind her. And Edward, Edward as he hunted, terrible and glorious as a young god, unstoppable. Would she have been grateful, that girl, or more frightened than before?_

~~~~~~~~~~~ New York City, circa 1931 ~~~~~~~~~~~

I hurried down the slowly emptying street. I was out all day in line for bread, and was supposed to be home soon. My mother would be worried, but being nearly fourteen, I could very well take care of myself. I didn't need to be reminded to wear a coat in the winter, or to brush my teeth at night, and I certainly didn't need to be escorted everywhere I went.

As I walked I listened to the droning sounds of the city. The automobiles rumbled up and down the street, conversations leaked out apartment windows, someone shouted in the distance, footsteps echoed through the dark. Usual city sounds, quieter now that night had fallen. I was amusing myself, as I often did, focusing on the ever-shifting clatter that was New York, when I noticed a single sound that was unchanging.

Footsteps, that was odd.

I figured they would have gone their own way by now, or passed me. But they were the same distance behind me, the same speed. I glanced over my shoulder, and was instantly trapped by the gaze of the frightening and shadowy figure behind me. Looking away immediately, I picked up my pace.

"In a hurry?" His voice echoed off the now empty street, carefully emphasizing each word. His pace followed the accelerated fashion of his voice. I didn't reply, but I paid careful attention to the sound of his footsteps, and realized he was getting closer. Anxiety began to leak through my veins.

"Hey doll, I just wanna talk to ya." He was much closer now, and I fought the urge to race home. His voice was gruff, menacing, and smug. I could practically smell him indulging in my fear.

When he was much too close to me I started to run. My legs carried me as fast as they could. It was like a nightmare. When you're being chased, but can't move at all. My lungs were tense with panic, fighting for a moment where they could drag in an ounce of air.

Only a minute passed before my ragged, clumsy escape attempt was illuminated to be futile. A huge, dirty hand clamped around my arm, forcing out a screech so loud I hurt my own ears. "Shut up!" he ordered and threw me into an alley like a limp doll. I hit the pavement hard, my wrist cracking loudly. My eyes opened to blurry vision – everything clouded by pleading tears.

The man was huge, easily taller than my father and twice his width. I shook and sobbed loudly. He leered at me, smiling with yellow, broken teeth.

"Please!" I coughed up the words through my weeping sobs. "I'm only thirteen!"

Booming with confident laughter, he bent toward me, his grey eyes gleaming with excitement. "I know." He grabbed my sweater and yanked me to my feet. I howled as my wrist felt like it was being split open, and back of his hand struck me with a deafening _crack. _"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"

"St-stop! Y-you can't- I have to- why?!" I blubbered. He reached into his jacket and yanked out a menacingly curved knife. My eyes widened and I was shocked into silence as he pressed the knife to my throat.

"Now, listen at me ya little bitch," he hissed. "Yer gonna shut yer damn mouth and do what I say, and maybe I'll kill ya nice-like, get it?"

Tears streaming down my cheeks, I nodded.

Was this all I could hope for now? To be killed "nice-like"?

He slammed me against the wall and began to lean toward me, reeking of sweat, liquor, and blood. I was shaking like a toddler's toy; I was afraid he was going to hit me again. Suddenly, I noticed a figure in the mouth of the alleyway. A statue.

Without moving, it was suddenly behind the man. Violently red hair and desolate black eyes gave him the horrifying appearance of a demon. I stared at him, bewildered, as he tapped the shoulder of an armed man more than three times his size.

Demon-looking or not, he was only a thin, malnourished-looking boy. His jacket hung off him, his skin was stark white, and the hollows around his eyes were purple. I thought he might have been a vagrant who'd come to the city for work. Did he think he was going to be a hero now? The man turned slowly towards him, and I let out a sob when I thought of his death, on my hands now.

"Hello." The boy was quiet, calm, and his voice was musical. I realized very suddenly that he was probably more beautiful than anyone I'd ever seen.

"Run!" I screamed and the man drew his fist back to punch me, but the boy was quicker. He grabbed him by the elbow and tossed him effortlessly into the brick wall opposite us. I crumpled to the ground, clutching my broken wrist.

The boy did not even look at me. He immediately began to stalk toward the man who was now trying to right himself. "You should never hit a lady," he said evenly.

"Fine, punk!" he yelled and instead swung his fist at him, striking his perfect face with a loud crunch. I gasped, and both men stood frozen for a second, before my attacker yanked his hand away in a delayed reaction. He encircled it like a sling, howling in pain

The angel laughed joyously, and then smiled maniacally as he watched him try to stumble away. When the man had nearly reached the mouth of the alley he appeared in front of him, eliciting a garbled scream.

"Now you want to leave the alley, do you?" he sneered, "What about all those little girls? You never let them leave. Why should I be so kind?" He grabbed a full fist of the man's short hair and dragged him backwards into the dark. I wanted to run. But they were between me and the street. Instead I shrank back into the shadows, hoping the angel would deal with him and I would be forgotten. There was no longer any doubt as to whom I should be truly afraid.

The angel's feet stopped moving. The predator-turned-prey sighed, thinking that it was all over. Before a second could pass, the creature slammed the man's face into the filthy concrete. Sitting up slowly, a scarlet flow poured from his nostrils and dripped like a fine wine over his cracked lips.

"Please," the man wept, "What do you want? I can get you anything! Money, drugs, women! Anything!"

"Bring Mrs. Willard's daughter back." I knew that name. She was my neighbour, her daughter, Julie, had disappeared two weeks ago.

"But I-! I can't!" he protested.

"Well, too bad." The angel wrapped his hand around the man's wrist, each finger placed ever so carefully over the proper pressure points. He squeezed, the bone popping under the distress, with bright red blood bursting through the newly created tear.

"AAUGH! I'M SORRY!" the man screamed, "I'll never do it again! I'll turn myself in!"

"Too late…" The angel sang tauntingly and tossed him into the air like a cat with a mouse, laughing when he hit the ground with a wet smack. "I'm going to make you feel the pain you made them feel."

He paused for a moment and all the joy left his radiant face.

"_All _of them."

He bent low over the crumpled mass on the ground. I could already begin to smell the stomach-curdling stench of rotting blood. In a last, desperate attempt, the man's good arm shot up and slashed the forgotten knife across the angel's throat. There was a squeal of metal on metal, followed by uproarious laughter.

"You humans are too much sometimes!" He chuckled and snatched the knife away, tossing it into the shadows. "And no, I don't need your weapons. I have my own." His white teeth gleamed in the moonlight and I scrambled further back into the alley.

"PLEASE!"

Rage flashed across the divine face. "How DARE you beg for what you have denied so many. I have heard enough!" He reached down and pulled something out of the man's mouth with a loud rip and tossed it. Over the gurgling cries that followed I heard a wet splat next to me tore my eyes away from the men to see a tongue, wriggling and bleeding on the ground. I forced myself not to scream. When I looked back, both of the man's arms were crushed. The angel was standing, holding one leg up by the ankle, and clenching a toe as the man howled beneath him. He tore the toe off and let it fall to the ground, dropping the leg after it.

He walked up to the man's head and leaned over, touching a finger to his throat. I heard a crunch, and the man fell silent, only a quiet, frantic hissing escaping his mouth. The angel returned to the foot, smirking as he locked another toe in his gaze. Now I could hear the popping of the joints, followed by the ripping of the muscle, and lastly the quiet plop as the toe hit the ground. Then another. And another. I could tell the man was trying to struggle, but the angel's grip was completely unbreakable. Slowly, methodically, digit after digit was removed, until both feet were nothing more than stumps on the ends of thick legs. Satisfied, the angel stepped onto both thighs, crushing them, and robbing the man of his last working limbs.

He stood back for a moment, as if admiring his handiwork. I didn't know how much time had passed, but I felt as if I'd been crouched there for hours. The moon was high and bright in the sky and its light gleamed off the white face of the majestic and horrifying being before me. Blood soaked his clothes, his skin, and his hair—turning it an even more brilliant red. His eyes were wide with hunger, rage, and excitement. Crazed and delirious with power, his lips twisted up into a sick grin.

He knelt down beside the pathetic thing on the ground, no longer a man, and ripped open his shirt. Gently, almost tenderly, he touched his finger to his collar bone, and slowly, carefully, began to peel the skin from his chest. The agonized seizures of his prey were ignored as the skin of his torso was removed inch by inch, revealing the gleaming red muscle beneath. Blood covered the surface of the street and the angel roared savagely and sunk his face into the bare meat of his chest.

From where I was sitting I could see everything. The way his teeth slid into the flesh effortlessly, the blood that squirted up and covered his face, the way his black eyes rolled into the back of his head and then fluttered closed. Both men seized up, but the broken one slowly relaxed, twitching, gurgling, and then stilling. This concrete angel, this god of death continued seizing, shaking with growls and snarls as he slurped greedily, noisily, in the otherwise silent alley. His finger flexed and dug into the flesh, coming away with handfuls of muscles, bones, or organs. I watched on with horror as his hands dug into the man like a little child in a sandbox. Finding his toy, a bright piece of meat flew towards me with blistering speed, splattering against the wall near my face. I screamed as it hit, the splash of the warm, fresh, human blood spraying my cheek. Soon there was nothing left but a pile of meat where a man had once lain.

The angel stood slowly, turning his head toward me before deliberately opening his eyes.

His glowing, blood-red, ferocious eyes.

We stared at each other for a long, silent moment. He glared at me while I shook and wept from fear, cowering against the brick behind me. I would have rather been killed by that man. I would have rather died any other way, for surely there was no pain on earth comparable to what I just witnessed.

The angel opened its mouth and roared at me, deafeningly, and I screamed, finally scrambling toward the street, finally forcing myself to stand, finally running out into the open. My legs responded at last and I ran home.

When I finally reached the house my mother was waiting in the doorway.

"Marie!" she shouted, sounding furious, "Where have you been?! It's nearly midni-"

I threw myself into her arms, blubbering and shuddering. Her anger melted and she held me gently. "It's alright, honey," she whispered, "You're okay now."

But I wasn't okay.

I'd never be okay again.


End file.
